Fancy meeting me for a butterbeer?
by ladyqueenscove
Summary: "Well honestly, my intention is to make you laugh."


**A/N:** This was written for my lovely friend Mari (maritheninja) as a birthday gift last month, but I figure I may as well upload it here, as well.

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><p><strong>Fancy meeting me for a butterbeer?<strong>

_**pairing; **_Fred/Hermione

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><p>The table that they—well, <em>he<em>—chose was tucked away in a corner. Once he'd ensured that Hermione was seated, Fred went off to get their drinks.

She was deep in thought when he returned, and she evidently didn't notice him come up behind her, because she jumped when he set down her glass. He raised a brow and uttered a "sorry," before sitting opposite her. "I guess should have announced myself."

They sat in silence, with him watching her intently and her looking around the room awkwardly. He was apparently waiting for her to break the silence, but she didn't know what to say to do that. Finally she decided upon, "So what exactly are your intentions here?"

He chuckled. "You sound suspicious."

"Maybe I am." She shrugged. "Would that be surprising?"

"Well, maybe not so much," he agreed.

"So?"

"Well honestly, my intention is to make you laugh."

"You make people laugh all the time, that doesn't seem like much of a goal," she reminded him. _And not worth inviting me out for_, she thought.

"I don't think I've ever made you laugh, though."

"Sure you have," she said dismissively. But after saying this she had to stop and consider. More often than not her reaction to Fred and George's antics was disapproval, not amusement. His expression—a cocked brow and a knowing smile—made her sure that he was aware of her thought process. She drank from her glass and looked across the room to the window as a way of avoiding his eyes.

"I'd also just like to know you better," he said, sipping from his own glass. His gaze still never left her.

She blushed. "Why?"

Fred shrugged. "How's your schoolwork going?"

"Better than yours."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," he laughed.

She smiled lightly.

They finished the rest of their drinks in silence, and Fred nodded his thanks to the barmaid when she came by with new ones. Once she'd sauntered away, Fred leaned in closer to Hermione—she turned then to look at him then, her attention having been caught by a man and his dog a few tables over—and broke their long silence with, "You know, if you wanted something stronger…" He trailed off.

"What?" she said as she tried and failed to comprehend what he'd said.

He indicated her glass and sat back, completely expressionless, and slowly it dawned on her. She looked at him in disbelief, and he continued to watch her with no visible emotion. "No," she said, sounding almost offended by the offer.

"That's a good girl," he said with approval, a smirk breaking his emotion-free façade. He rolled his eyes at her expression. "I'm not going to buy you alcohol," he said, as if it were absurd to think he might do so.

"For some reason I find that hard to believe."

"Oh, believe whatever you like. I just wanted a reaction from you."

"What?" she scoffed.

"You're being so bloody quiet."

"That's your way of getting me to talk? Offering to get me drunk?"

"One drink doesn't equal 'drunk', Hermione. And anyway, it worked, didn't it?"

"You're ridiculous."

He laughed. "Glad you've noticed."

"You're not going to get close to your goal like this," she assured him.

"We'll see," he said with a shrug. "For future reference, I wouldn't buy you a firewhisky if you begged me."

"Still find that hard to believe."

"Still true. I'll not be responsible for any fifth years getting drunk."

"You just said one drink doesn't mean drunk. And do you expect me to believe you hadn't had alcohol at my age?"

"Don't make this about me."

"It was already about you!"

"Oh hush." He waved a dismissive hand at her.

She almost chuckled, but then caught herself—now it was _her _goal _not_ to laugh at him. She didn't want him having that satisfaction.

"Back to small talk, I guess," Fred sighed. "How's that beast of yours? Crackerjack, right?"

"Crookshanks," she corrected him. "And he's doing fine."

"Sniffed out any more murderers?"

She held back another giggle of sorts. "No, not that I know of." 

They continued like that for a while. She found it easy to hold a conversation with him, so long as she wasn't responsible for actually keeping it going. He never seemed victim to awkward silences or lack of things to say; while she formed her responses to his questions or comments, she could practically see five more things pop into his head. And sure enough, as soon as she finished speaking, he fired away, the subjects ranging from her life in the Muggle world, to future D.A. meetings and her friends at Hogwarts, including her relationship with Ron—which she told him several times was purely friendly, but he didn't seem to believe that.

The barmaid came by to refill their glasses again as they discussed the differences between his fifth-year DADA classes with Lupin and hers with Umbridge. It was clearly a topic she was quite passionate about. He watched her with rapt attention as he took a swig of his newly-filled glass and then set it back down on the table. Or, rather, intended to set it back down.

All it took was a simple miscalculation of where, exactly, the edge of the table _was_ for his drink to slosh onto his lap. His glass fell to the ground—miraculously still in one piece—and rolled away and Fred leapt from his chair, cursing.

He mopped the floor with several napkins and was wiping himself off when he noticed the laughter. He slumped back into his chair, knowing he was as dry as he was going to be, and regarded the girl with a raised brow. "Of all the things to make you laugh…"

"I'm sorry," she said, her grin never faltering. Her shoulders shook with what was now silent laughter.

A smile made its way onto his face as he watched her, and she eyed him distrustfully. "And what have you got to grin about?" she asked.

"I like your smile."

Hermione's face flushed. "I—thank you?" she said, sounding as if she wasn't sure it was a compliment.

He chuckled. "You're welcome," he said, winking. She blushed more. "But I'm appalled, Hermione." His smile proved that to be a lie. "You're the last person I'd expect to find pleasure in someone else's suffering. What have you to say for yourself?"

"I can dry you properly, you know," she offered, reaching for the wand in her pocket.

He shook his head, reaching for his own pocket. "I can do that." A wave of his wand and his glasses rolled back to them—to the disappointment of the dog, who thought it to be an interesting toy—and handed back on the table in front of him. The pool on the floor vanished, and she assumed that his lap was dry, as well, but she didn't investigate, figuring that had to potential to be very awkward. "Look now, you've shocked me so completely that I forgot I could even do magic."

"You were using napkins before I made a peep," she said, rolling her eyes.

The barmaid hurried over, apparently to offer another drink, but he waved her off. "Ready to head back? It's probably about time," he said to Hermione. "Or, I know some passageways, if you'd like to stay out longer—"

"Let's go."

"We wouldn't get caught!"

She let herself give a small laugh. "Maybe another time."


End file.
